The Phone Call at 3:17

Adil never believed in ghost stories. He considered them exaggerated tales people told to entertain themselves on dark nights. Living alone in a small apartment on the outskirts of the city, he enjoyed the silence. His routine was simple—work during the day, dinner at night, and sleep before midnight. Nothing unusual ever happened in his life, and he preferred it that way.

One rainy night in early winter, Adil woke suddenly to the sound of his phone ringing. Half asleep, he reached toward the bedside table and glanced at the screen. The time read 3:17 a.m. The caller ID showed “Unknown.”

Adil frowned. It was unusual for anyone to call him that late. Thinking it might be an emergency, he answered.

“Hello?” he said groggily.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then he heard breathing—slow, faint, and uneven.

“Hello?” Adil repeated, louder this time.

The breathing stopped. After a few seconds, a whisper emerged from the other end of the line.

“Adil…”

The voice sounded distorted, like someone speaking through water. It was faint but unmistakably human. Adil sat upright in bed.

“Who is this?” he asked.

The voice did not answer. Instead, the line went dead.

Adil stared at his phone, unsettled. Maybe it was a prank call, he thought. Still, the voice had sounded strangely familiar, though he couldn’t place it. Shaking off the unease, he put the phone down and tried to sleep again.

The next night, it happened again.

At 3:17 a.m., the phone rang.

This time Adil hesitated before answering. His heart beat faster as he pressed the accept button.

“Hello?”

The same breathing returned, louder now. Then the whisper came again.

“Adil… why didn’t you help me?”

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

But once again, the call ended abruptly.

Adil couldn’t sleep the rest of the night. The question echoed in his mind. Why didn’t you help me?

The following day, he tried to investigate the number, but the call log showed no record of the incoming call. It was as if it had never happened.

For the next two nights, the phone remained silent. Adil began to believe it had all been a strange dream.

Then, on the fifth night, the phone rang again.

3:17 a.m.

Adil’s hands trembled as he answered.

“Stop calling me!” he shouted.

This time, the voice was clearer.

“You left me there…”

Adil froze.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced—something he had tried to forget for years.

Five years earlier, Adil had been driving home late at night when he saw a man lying injured on the side of the road after what looked like a motorcycle accident. Adil had slowed his car, uncertain what to do. He had been tired, scared, and worried about getting involved.

After a moment of hesitation, he had driven away.

The next morning, the news reported that the injured man had died before help arrived.

Adil had tried to convince himself it wasn’t his responsibility. But now the voice on the phone sounded hauntingly familiar—the same weak tone the injured man had used when he tried to wave for help.

“You… you can’t be…” Adil whispered.

The voice interrupted him.

“I waited… but you never came back.”

The lights in his apartment flickered. A faint knocking sound echoed from the hallway outside his door.

Adil slowly turned toward the entrance.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

The phone was still pressed to his ear.

The voice whispered one final sentence.

“I’m here now.”

At that exact moment, the knocking on the door stopped.

Adil stood frozen, staring at the handle as it slowly began to turn by itself.

His phone screen went black.

But the time still glowed faintly in the darkness.

3:17 a.m.